


in the weeping of the rain

by verivala



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Character Death, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Conversations, Dissociation, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Healing, Heavy Angst, Insomnia, Internal Conflict, M/M, Memories, Nightmares, Reconciliation, Secret Relationship, Self-Hatred, Shock, Siblings, Suicidal Thoughts, Trouble With Eating, Universe Alteration, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-08 13:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verivala/pseuds/verivala
Summary: Albus Dumbledore's world changes one beautiful autumn morning; Gellert Grindelwald is dead, and Albus doesn't know how to cope.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Time Does Not Bring Relief (Sonnet II) by Edna St. Vincent Millay
> 
> The first chapter is just a short prologue; the rest of the chapters will be longer.

Albus woke to the faint chirping of his alarm spell. Groaning, he sat up on his bed, one hand rubbing away the sleep from his eyes as the other waved the alarm to silence. Heaving his legs out from beneath the covers, Albus slipped his bare feet into purple slippers that lay next to his bed. As he stood up, he summoned his favourite orange morning gown to him and pulled it on. Tying it closed, Albus walked over to the large, ceiling-length windows covering the opposite wall and drew back the red curtains.

The morning light was painting the Hogwarts’ grounds in beautiful yellows, enchanting the already resplendent autumn colours of the Forbidden Forest. Albus smiled fondly as he saw that some students were already walking around the grounds, running and laughing, their cheeks rosy in the crisp morning air. Cracking open the window slightly, he leaned against the windowpane and soaked in the beautiful morning light, giving himself just a moment of peace before starting his day.

After what felt like much too short a time, Albus heard the faint crack of displaced air as a pot of tea appeared on his desk with his morning post. Breathing in his last fill of the crisp autumn air, Albus shut the window, and walking over to the desk; he picked up his cup of tea. The next half an hour was spent reading and responding to the letters he had received from his various acquaintances and the few Transfiguration journals for which he had promised articles.

When Albus next glanced up, after having gone through maybe half of the enormous pile of letters, he realised it was well past the time for breakfast. He quickly stood up and flicked his wand, making the letters move to their proper places. Another flick of his wand and his chosen attire for the day flew to him from his dresser, and he quickly pulled it on. Then Albus walked to his vanity, and after splashing some water onto his face, started fixing his hair and his beard.

When he was satisfied with his appearance, Albus pocketed his wand and strode towards the door leading to the hallway outside.

Just before he left, a painting of a famous alchemist tried to gain his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he shouted, “Whatever it is, it can wait until breakfast!” giving the painting a cheery wave before shutting the door behind him.

Climbing down a flight of stairs, Albus briskly made his way down to the Great Hall. A few other stragglers were on their way down to breakfast as well and greeted him with waves and shouts of his name. Albus waved back, winking at them, making a few of the older girls blush and giggle. Shaking his head in amusement, Albus thought that he would never get used to that particular reaction.

The Great Hall was filled with conversation as he entered. Everyone seemed to be reading the Daily Prophet, those who didn't have it delivered reading it over their classmates' shoulders. Some students were crying silently or laughing from joy as they fiercely hugged their classmates. Puzzled by the commotion, Albus made his way to the head table, directing a questioning eyebrow at Minerva, who had arrived before him. She was looking somewhat shellshocked but smiled as she saw him and shook her head to indicate that it was not bad news. Before Albus had even sat down, Minerva asked him, "Have you heard the news?"

"Of what?" Albus asked, smiling as he reached for a slice of bread. Minerva picked up the Prophet and silently passed it to him. Albus took it automatically, glancing at the headline. The knife in his hand clattered onto the table.

The noise inside the hall rose in a cascade. A cheer went up at the right side of the room, and it was soon taken up by the rest of the students. Albus sat still, his hands nerveless around the newspaper as the roar of the voices grew dim in his ears, muffled, like he was sitting underwater. His surroundings faded around him, and Albus was only distantly aware of Minerva's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. All he could see were those four words, staring up at him from the paper.

**Dark Wizard Grindelwald Dead!**


	2. Disbelief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albus spends most of this chapter in various stages of shock/dissociation/disbelief/all that fun stuff. He's mentally processing, but at about the speed of a buffering loading bar. The news really knocked him off course. He was preparing mentally for breaking the pact and going against Gellert, and now Gellert is dead. And Albus has no idea what to do or how to feel.
> 
> Since Albus was prohibited from teaching DADA in tCoG, I'm going with the theory that he transferred to the Head of Transfiguration Department after and Minerva works under him as an assistant teacher as per McGonagall's Pottermore page.
> 
> Also, please mind the updated tags. There's also additional content warning in the endnotes. The suicidal ideation is not very heavy, but if you are sensitive to it and think it could be potentially triggering, please stop reading now and come back later when you're in a better mental place.
> 
> Italialiced segments are nightmares.

"-bus? Albus?"

His eyes unfocused, Albus raised his gaze to Minerva. She looked concerned. Albus stretched his lips into an apologetic smile. It felt fragile on his face, but he managed to keep it up. "I'm sorry, Minerva. You were saying?"

"Just that it's wonderful news, is it not?"

 _Wonderful news._ Albus looked down at the article. It was brief, containing no details of what had happened, just the short four-letter announcement and a vivid recap of Grindelwald's various acts of terror around the globe. Albus raised his gaze, looking down at the sea of celebrating students. Their joy was overwhelming. Their tears of joy were even worse. His lips opened, but he could not bring himself to speak. Instead, he just nodded his head and gave Minerva a quick smile. She continued watching him, concern evident on her face, so Albus forced himself to pick up his knife and butter his slice of honey bread. He ate mechanically, the food tasting sweet and cloying in his mouth. The sounds faded in and out as his gaze moved from a student to student, all of them laughing and cheering, joy shining through their expressions.

Closing his eyes, Albus placed down the bread. He could feel his heart racing. His breath started to come out in shallow gasps, and his hands grew numb around his utensils. He staggered slightly as he abruptly stood up. Minerva reached out a hand for him, alarmed. He stretched his numb lips into a reassuring smile and waved her off. Descending the podium, Albus walked past the students, their faces blurring alarmingly as he passed them, the noise in his ears ringing louder and louder. When he was finally out in the hallway, he broke into a brisk walk, his breath still coming out in short gasps. He clambered up the stairs, holding on to the railing in the fear that his legs would give out under him. On the third floor, out of sight of the students, he broke into a run.

As the door to his chambers closed behind Albus, the painting of Chapeau impatiently shouted, “There you are! Nicholas wanted to know if- “Albus rushed past him, stumbling onto his knees as he hurried to the chest where he had hidden the blood pact. With shaking hands, Albus opened the lid. “-knew what happened with Grindelwald?” Inside the chest, the pendant lay on the bottom where he had left it, its centre shattered. The blood had oozed out from the crack and formed a drying brown circle beneath it. Feeling dizzy, Albus slumped on the floor.

It took him a while to become aware that Chapeau was still waiting for an answer. Albus opened his mouth. He struggled to form words, but eventually, he managed. “No,” he said, his mouth dry, still staring at the blood, “I don't know anything.”

* * *

Albus was in the middle of writing letters to his contacts, inquiring after the events that had led to Gel- Grindelwald’s demise when a knock sounded on the door. Pushing back his hair, he went to his vanity. He could hardly recognise himself in the reflection. His hair was a mess and at places moist with cold sweat. His shirt was untucked, and the sleeves were haphazardly drawn past his elbows. Spots of ink dotted his forearms and fingers. His face had grown pale, and his eyes were red, although he had not shed any tears.

“Just a moment!” he called out, withdrawing his wand from his pocket with numb hands. He stared at himself, trying to recall any spell that improved one’s appearance, but to his frustration could not remember a single one. Aggravated, he slammed the wand on top of the vanity. He fixed his shirt with his hands, drew on his coat, and slapped himself on the cheeks a few times to bring some colour into them. Lastly, he picked up his rarely used reading glasses and slipped them on. The knock sounded again, this time sounding more impatient. Albus walked over and opened the door, trying to draw his lips into a semblance of his usual smile.

“Albus, your students are- “started an impatient looking Minerva, who stopped as soon as she saw him. “Merlin!” she exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest.

Albus winced internally; he hadn’t thought it was as bad as that.

“My, you’re as pale as anything,” Minerva exclaimed, reaching out a hand towards him, as if afraid he would faint.

Albus gave what he hoped passed for a sheepish smile. “Ah, yes, I believe I might be coming down with something.”

Minerva reached for his arm and pushed him back inside. Albus allowed her to lead him to his bed and sat down heavily as she patted the mattress.

“I thought you looked ill at breakfast,” Minerva said, looking worried. She took out her wand and waved it over him, frowning at the results.

Uncomfortable with her fretting, Albus caught her hand and pulled it down. “Was there something you needed my help with?”

Minerva frowned and gave him a sharp look. “Your class started not fifteen minutes ago.”

“It did?” Albus asked, flipping open his pocket watch. It was, indeed, way past the time he was supposed to have been in class. “I’m very sorry, Minerva. I had some urgent letters to send and the time ran away from me,” he explained, giving her a rueful smile.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I figured it would be something like that, considering the news,” she said, emphasising the last word. She reached out and lay a gentle hand on his arm. “I can take over for the rest of the day if you need some rest.”

Albus squeezed her hand before letting it drop between them. “I would appreciate it. Thank you, Minerva.”

“I could fetch Madam Basil for you,” Minerva offered, still hovering over him.

Albus shook his head. “No, I have some potions I can take.” When Minerva still looked unconvinced, he continued, “I’ll be fine. Truly.”

Minerva straightened, running her sharp gaze over him once more.

Finally, she sighed and gave a sharp nod. “You just rest up, now,” she ordered and smiled at Albus one last time before turning to return to class, her heels clicking against the stone floor.

Albus waited for her steps to fade before getting up and walking back to his desk. He had letters to complete.

* * *

Answers to Albus’ inquiries trickled in throughout the day, but it was only late in the evening that he received his first piece of concrete information. The letter came from one of his American contacts, in the claws of a very peeved off and tired looking hawk, that screeched at him and stole a piece of his untouched dinner before flying off back into the darkening sky. Albus ripped the envelope open, quickly skimming through the contents.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I see the news has reached you on the other side of the pond as well. Pretty shocking, isn’t it? I wasn’t present, but from what I heard they were down in Arizona – Merlin knows what he was doing over there – when some green-behind-the-ears schmuck got lucky and hit Grindelwald in the back. His followers went down easy after that._

_Who would have thought it would be so simple? Hitting a person in the back is pretty cowardly if you ask me, but it did the job. We are finally rid of the bastard. Guess we should have been playing dirty from the start._

_And before you ask, we checked and double-checked that it was actually him, so no need to worry about that. I don’t know about you, but I’m going home to my wife and having a party tonight._

_You’re welcome to join us if you feel so inclined._

_Yours,_

_Michael Whittaker_

_Auror_

_The Magical Congress of the United States of America_

Albus stared at the letter for a moment longer before sliding it back into the torn envelope and placing it onto his desk. As a rule, he did not make a habit of drinking, but Albus decided to make an exception just this once. He sent a message to the kitchen’s, and soon he had an entire bottle of Firewhisky balanced precariously on his knee as he slumped down on the floor.

He took a long swig, closing his eyes as the liquid burned down his throat.

* * *

_They were laying in bed, naked, their legs intertwined. Albus huffed out a laugh as Gellert gently tickled his sides. He swatted at his wandering hands, receiving a gentle nip of his earlobe in return. Gellert rolled them over, hovering over Albus. Albus smiled, raising his hand to trace Gellert’s cheekbones. He frowned. Gellert felt cold to his touch. Too cold._

_Alarmed, his eyes flew to Gellert’s, and he saw that the spark in them had gone out, replaced by a film of milky-white. Gellert’s weight slumped onto him, and Albus could not breathe. His breath came out in small panicked gasps as he tried to shake Gellert awake. His weight became heavier and heavier until Albus could not move at all. He wanted to scream for help, but he could not draw any air into his lungs. He tried to sob, but his chest would not rise._

* * *

Albus woke up to his head screaming at him. Groaning, he blinked his eyes. Disorientated by the pain and little to no sleep, he wondered what he was doing on the floor. His eyes caught on the wrinkled letter lying on the floor next to him, and he remembered.

_Gellert is dead._

He let the thought sit in his head for a moment, turning it this way and that, turning it over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of it.

_Gellert is dead._

It did not feel real.

Eventually, Albus got up, his back and knees screaming in protest; he was way past the age where he could sleep on the floor without problems. Albus staggered to his desk where his morning tea was waiting and gulped it down. It burned, but he kept drinking until it was gone. When Albus was done, he stared at the scattered tea leaves at the bottom as if trying to divine answer from them.

Sighing, he pushed the teacup away. Divination had always been more Gellert’s area than his. _Gellert is dead,_ came the whisper _. Gellert is dead._ Ignoring it and the ever-growing pile of letters on his desk, Albus went straight to his vanity.

The bags under his eyes were enormous, and his skin was even paler than yesterday, making them pop out from his skin even more. His hair was in disarray, falling from the hasty bun he had tied it into last night. Albus dragged a hand over his face and groaned. The hangover was making his head throb. He opened a drawer full of potions and gulped down his rarely used hangover cure, grimacing at the taste. Reaching out, he pulled away the tie holding his bun together, letting his hair fall around his face in messy curtains. When he ran a hand through his hair, he made a face at the greasy state of it. He thought he should take a shower, but even the thought of it exhausted him.

Sitting down, he placed his still throbbing head against the cool wood of the desk. 

_Gellert is dead,_ he thought, staring listlessly at the wall next to him.

Gellert was dead and Albus- did not know what to do. He hardly knew how he felt. It was not as if he had not lost Gellert years ago. He had not even seen him in person in years. Albus had been preparing to _fight_ him. And now he was dead. When Ariana had- when Gellert had left, Albus had thought he would bleed to death with the pain of it. He had felt as if he could hardly move or breathe with the weight of the guilt and grief pressing down on him. But now- now it was different. Whereas before the pain of loss had been sharp and all-consuming, a confusing mix of grief and longing and guilt, now- now the pain was muted.

He felt cold.

Numb.

_It did not feel real._

* * *

When he finally made his way down to breakfast, Minerva hurried to pull him a chair when she saw him approaching the head table. Albus smiled at her and patted her hand in thanks. Her sharp eyes took in his appearance, following his every move with concern. Albus reached out to take a piece of sausage to reassure her. She didn’t turn away until his plate was filled to her satisfaction. Albus almost felt like a boy again, with his mother watching over him to make sure he ate his vegetables. If this were any other day, the thought would have amused him, and he would have teased Minerva for it, making her huff and roll her eyes. Instead, Albus smiled and took a smile bite of his bread. He ate slowly, his head still giving an occasional twinge of pain.

Slowly the potion started to have an effect, easing the tension away bit by bit. As the headache eased, Albus became more aware of the conversation around him.

“What do you think they will do with the body?” asked Hamish, the Herbology Professor, a thin, nervous-looking man who always seemed to have dirt under his fingernails.

“I say that they should throw it outside, let him be eaten by vultures,” answered Gillyweed, a short man with a wild mane of blonde hair. He had been elected for the newly minted Care of Magical Creatures Professorship after the publishing of Newt’s book two years ago. Albus did not know him very well and found that he had no desire to do so either. He was certain Newt would not approve of him.

“Henry,” gasped Minerva, clearly aghast by the idea.

“What?” Gillyweed asked. “He had it coming for him. It’s not like anyone is going to mourn the bastard.”

Albus gripped his fork tightly and pierced a piece of sausage. He raised it into his mouth, and the greasy taste of it burst on his taste buds. It almost made him gag. He placed down his fork.

Beside him, Minerva sniffed dismissively and placed a napkin on her lap. “Still, no matter who he was in life, I think everyone should be granted the respect of a proper burial.”

“Whatever you say, Minnie,” Gillyweed said, patting her hand patronisingly.

Minerva glared at him before turning to Albus. “Albus, what do you think?”

“I- “Albus paused, his mind scrambling for a proper reply. His throat felt dry, but he forced himself to speak. “I agree with you, Minerva. I think he should be buried in Nurmengrad; it was his home, after all.” Minerva smiled victoriously, giving Gillyweed a smug glance. Gillyweed huffed and went back to eating his kidney pie. Albus stood up and gathered his bag. “Now, if you would excuse me, I have a lesson to plan.”

“But you barely ate!” Minerva called after him. Albus waved his hand at her, his bag swinging over his shoulder. He grasped tightly at the leather strap to prevent his hands from shaking.

* * *

The rest of the day did not improve.

Around lunchtime, Albus followed the sound of sobs into the girls’ bathroom. He knocked cautiously on the door, before stepping inside. A Ravenclaw girl was sitting on the floor, cradling a picture in her hands as she sobbed her eyes out. Her eyes were red, and the water that had dripped on the floor from a leaking sink had soaked through her skirt. Albus knelt before her, silently offering her a handkerchief. She took it, ducking her head as she patted at her eyes. Albus sat down on the floor and waited for her to calm down. The tiles were cold to the touch.

The girl gave a final sniffle before she raised her head. Her brown eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her skin had grown blotchy from crying. Playing with the edge of the handkerchief, she whispered, "Sorry, Professor.” and handed him back the tissue. Albus took it, vanishing it with the flick of the wrist, and smiled gently at her. “It’s quite alright. Now, would you like to tell me what the matter is?”

She sniffed and drew her knees against her stomach. It made her look younger. Vulnerable. “My older brother was an Auror,” she said quietly. Albus closed his eyes as the realisation hit him. Ah. “Grindewald killed him in Paris." Her voice cracked, and suddenly she threw her arms around him. Bringing his arms around her back, Albus moved his weight to better hold her. 

"I'm so glad he's dead. I'm so glad he's dead," she sobbed against his shoulder. The water on the floor soaked through the fabric of Albus’ trousers. Her sobs echoed in the bathroom, bouncing and amplifying off the tiled floor. Her tears stained the fabric of Albus’ suit. Albus closed his eyes and kept caressing her back. His throat felt very tight. "It's alright. I understand. It's alright."

"I wish he rots in Hell," she spat viciously. Her sobs had subsided, but her body was still shaking with rage and pent up grief. Albus squeezed harder, ignoring the tightening in his chest and the burning of his eyes.

He held her until she calmed down and then helped her off the floor. A warm breeze dried their clothes with the wave of his wand. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he escorted her down to lunch. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment, but she smiled at him gratefully before running off to join the Ravenclaw table. He watched her go, his chest tight as her words echoed in his ears. ( _I'm so glad he's dead.)_

After lunch – which he had pretended to eat to appease Minerva – Albus locked himself into his rooms. Fishing the bloody remains of the pendant out from the box, Albus clutched it to his chest. The broken edges of it dug into his skin. He sat on the floor again, leaning his head against an armchair. His head felt strange, as if it had been stuffed full of cotton. He flicked his fingers and the fireplace opposite the chair burst into flames. The fire was strong, but he could not feel its warmth. His limbs felt heavy as he closed his eyes.

_I'm so glad he's dead._

The flames danced higher and higher, painting shadows across his closed eyelids.

* * *

_It was hot. The sun was burning down on him, making his clothes feel constricting. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow, drops of it sliding down his neck and into the blue fabric of his robes. He pushed sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes, blinking to clear his vision. He knew that he was looking for something, but he did not know what. It felt like hours had passed when, finally, he saw a black figure lying on the ground. His heart jumped. Big vulture birds were surrounding it, pecking and biting. As he approached, they took to flight, one by one, spooked by his presence. He stumbled in the hard sand, landing on his knees in front of the body. The face was entirely gone, the eyes two gaping empty holes, staring out from a white skull. He brought a hand to his mouth, trying not to throw up from the smell of rotting meat. A sob caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes — a hand wrapped around his wrist. His eyes snapped open. To his horror, the corpse had come to life, its familiar eyes back on their places, staring accusingly at him._

_‘You left me.’_

* * *

Over a week, and still, Albus had hardly slept. Most of the time, he couldn’t, and when he did, he had nightmares. He could not remember what happened in them, but he always woke up covered in cold sweat and feeling ill.

Albus had kept sending out letters in the faint hope (or was it dread?) that the answer would change. It never did. Gellert was not out there impersonating some poor person, stealing their life for his own purposes, laughing as he saw how he had fooled the entire world into thinking he was dead. No, Gellert was dead. Albus kept repeating it over and over again in his mind. Gellert was dead. He was lying in a morgue somewhere in Arizona, his skin pale and cold, his eyes closed and never opening again.

_Gellert was dead._

No matter how many letters he combed through, the thought did not feel any more real than it had the first time. He opened the latest envelope he had received, already knowing what it would contain — another confirmation.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_It has come to my attention that you have some concerns about Grindelwald’s death. After all his miraculous escapes, I can understand the worry, but I can assure you that it is really him. I have examined the body myself. I’ve enclosed some photographs and documents as further reassurance. If you still feel concerned or have additional questions, feel free to contact me. I would be more than happy to show you the body._

_With Regards,_

_Janine Morten_

_Healer_

_The Magical Congress Of The United States Of America_

Albus became aware of the weight of the envelope in his other hand as he read the letter. With shaking hands, he placed the note on the table. Albus stared at the brown envelope in his hands, dreading what it would contain. But- he had to know. With nerveless fingers, he reached in and dug out the first photograph. It was a close-up of a face. The eyes were closed, and for a magical photograph, the body was unnaturally still. The hair was longer than it had been the last time Albus had seen a photograph of him, but it was undoubtedly Gellert’s face. Exhaling, Albus placed it on the table, face-down. The next document was an autopsy report. His hands trembling, Albus opened it. After a moment, he put it back on his desk.

(A girl cried in a bathroom, her sobs echoing off the marble tiles.

_I’m so glad he’s dead.)_

* * *

Albus thought of white skin stripping back, exposing bones that curved around the lungs, protecting them. He thought of the crack bone makes when it breaks. He thought of lungs that are still and won't draw breath ever again. He thought of the lungs rising in the air, discarded, just slaps of dead tissue, exposing the organs beneath. Albus thought of the human heart, how it beat until it didn’t. He thought of how it bumped blood, the chambers pulsing in rhythm to sustain life. He thought of blood rushing through veins, rushing, pulsing. (Albus thought of Gellert's pulse, steady under his ear. He thought of Gellert's pulse, racing against his fingertips as he breathed, heavy, under him.) He thought of the scalp being drawn back, exposing the white bone under it. He thought of the sound of the skull cracking, revealing a massive organ of exposed nerves. He thought of it lying on a grey slab somewhere in Arizone; a mass of grey tissue where it once had contained life; mass of tissue where there once had been Gellert. Gellert and his brilliance, his wit and his dreams, and his idealism and his cruelty. His gentleness.

Albus observed a hand on the desk, saw it twitching. Fascinated, he watched it, cataloguing the bones and the tendons that made it work; the human body, an intricate work of art. He thought of the nerves firing in his brain, issuing commands to muscles surrounding the bone. Thought of the lift of the finger that followed the movement of the muscles.

A warm hand lay across it. Blinking, Albus turned his head sideways. Minerva was frowning at him. “Albus?”

Albus smiled. “Yes, Minerva?”

“Is everything alright?” she asked, lowering her voice so the students would not overhear.

“Perfectly,” he said, smiling as he patted her hand.

She frowned, clearly unconvinced, but instead pursuing the topic; she withdrew her touch and transferred her attention back to the class. Albus’ skin burned where her hand had been. (It reminded him of another hand. Warm, soft with youth, caressing his skin. Two eyes, one black and one such pale blue it appeared white. The hand in his thigh, blonde hair tickling Albus’ cheek, his breath in his ear. _We will be kings.)_

* * *

Albus walked down the familiar hallway, stopping in front of a locked door. He hesitated before turning the metal handle of the door in front of him. The door creaked open, the light from hallway spilling inside the room beyond, illuminating the dark, tall shape standing in the middle of the room.

Albus went inside, closing the door behind him. Without the light from the corridor, the room was dark, only faint light coming in from the small windows along the walls. Albus stepped forward, his steps echoing in the bare room. Bare, except for the object he had come to seek. He lifted his hand and grabbed hold of the blue fabric covering it. He hesitated. Albus had not looked into the Mirror since he had received the pendant almost two years ago.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and pulled down the curtain. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The Mirror rippled and then- Gellert stood before him. His hair was the same length as it had been in the photograph, falling in small curls around his face, but otherwise, he looked the same as the last time. When he saw Albus, a small smile appeared on his face.

Albus fell on the hard, stone floor with a thud. His hands and knees stung from the force of it. The floor spun in front of him, his breath coming out in small gasps. He couldn’t breathe. Albus’ breath hitched, and a sob escaped from his lips. A dark spot appeared on the floor in front of him, followed by another, and another. Albus closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

(Scream. Body hitting the kitchen floor. A coffin lowered to the ground. A burst of pain as bone broke. Newt, stifling tears as he sipped tea in his office. Theseus, turning away, his eyes red and his hand wrapped tightly around his wand. A girl crying on the bathroom floor. _I’m glad he’s dead.)_

Albus grasped his hair and _pulled_.

* * *

_Ariana’s coffin (or was it Gellert’s?) was lowered into the ground, and Aberforth’s fist collided with his nose. The blood flew in an arch, staining the surface of their mother’s grave. It trickled down, covering the whole stone. It trickled down, and the grave opened and swallowed Albus whole. The hands of Gellert’s countless victims pulled him down into the dirt with him, their hollow faces staring at him in the darkness._

_A hand reached out to him, and he desperately grasped it. Gellert smiled at him, his two mercurial eyes shining down on him. Albus heaved out a sob of relief and clung to him. But the hand that was holding him turned cold._ _Raising his head, Albus saw that the flesh had melted of Gellert’s body_ _, leaving only his bones._ _And those two eyes, shining in the dark._

 _Albus tried to let go, but the skeletal hand squeezed harder. Harder, until he was pressed against him. Harder, until Albus could not move._ _Harder, and he could not breathe._

* * *

When he was not haunted by nightmares, Albus lay awake in his bed and imagined. Often, he imagined going to the Ministry. Imagined walking to the office of the Head Auror, placing his wand on the desk and confessing. _I aided and abetted the Dark Lord Grindelwald in his plans for the destruction of the Statute of_ _Secrecy._ He imagined being locked up and chained away in Azkaban, in the same cell his father had been kept in. He imagined his life slowly drawing away, the cold settling deep in his bones. He imagined the raw terror before a Dementor granted him his final kiss.

(Only once did he imagine walking out into the grounds, wading into the lake in his jacket, letting its weight pull him down, down, down into the darkness. Down until he could not tell which way was up and which way was down. Down until he could not breathe. Down until his lips were blue and his skin was paler than bone. Down until he joined Gellert in death as they should have been together in life)

Sometimes, he imagined telling Minerva the truth; Minerva who believed in him, trusted him, even idolised him. He imagined the look on her face as she discovered he was not perfect, that he had once believed as Gellert had, that her Muggle lover was lesser than them, that he deserved a lifetime of servitude or even death. Albus imagined her slapping him, calling him a monster, her blue eyes filling with tears. He imagined the sting of it, the relief that someone saw him for what he was. Perhaps it would give him reprieve from this numb haze he had found himself in.

Perhaps, after, he could finally rest. Perhaps, after, he would not feel this suffocating guilt. Perhaps, after, the thought of facing his students would not fill him with dread.

Perhaps.

* * *

A butterfly flapped its wings. It flew around in a glass jar, its wings hitting the walls of its containment; a cage made of glass - the illusion of freedom, just outside reach. It struggled, hitting the walls over and over.

(Gellert stood in the field behind his house, spreading his hands. The look on his face was half-wild, his blonde hair flying around him in the wind. _I want us to be free,_ he shouted _. No more shackles! No more living in the shadows, cowering, as if we were the ones who should be afraid!_

He knelt on one knee, his hand finding Albus'. He squeezed, hard. His eyes were twin flames against his pale skin. _No more Arianas_ , he whispered.

Albus squeezed back. No more.)

Finally, exhausted, the buttefly lay on the bottom. Still.

“Professor!”

Albus jumped up from his chair, hitting his knees against it. He grimaced at the pain but ignored it. The students were screaming, some of them looking like they would be ill. In the middle of the room stood McLaggen, sobbing as he clutched what used to be his arm. The flesh of his forearm had been punctured by bones that curved in arches above his head, twisting and turning and still growing longer.

Albus hurried over, muttering the counter-curse furiously under his breath. Dismissing the rest of the class, he took the boy down into the infirmary on a stretcher; one thought ringing clear through his worried mind. _If I had been paying attention like I was supposed to, this would not have happened_.

Albus had given his students a new spell to practice. The spell was an advanced one, meant for human transformations, and its practice should have, therefore, been supervised _extremely_ closely. But he had not been, too distracted by his grief and the memory of him as he had been back then; full of wild passion and life.

Albus passed the stretcher to the harried-looking school nurse before slumping down on one of the chairs in the infirmary. Bending down, he pressed his head into his hands.

His fingers dug hard into his scalp.

* * *

Headmaster Dippet had summoned him to his office after dinner. Albus sifted on his chair as he waited for the Headmaster to bring two cups of tea to the table, uncomfortably aware that in all his years in Hogwarts, he had not once been here to be reprimanded. Dippet sat down slowly on his chair and placed the second cup in front of Albus.

“I find that doing things manually from time to time keeps one fresh, don’t you?” Dippet said, sipping contently at his tea.

Albus cleared his throat. “Quite.” He picked up his own cup but did not drink.

After a moment, Dippet put his tea down and aimed a serious look Albus’ way. Albus caressed the cup in his hands and tried not to fidget under Dippet’s gaze.

“We need to talk about what happened this morning,” Dippet said, his voice grave.

Albus nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“I hope that you understand the full gravity of the situation,” said Dippet, his eyes trained on Albus. “Had the spell hit his head he could have died. As it is, he was damned lucky that Madam Basil was able to save his arm.”

Albus lowered his head. His chest burned with shame. “I know, and I’m fully prepared to face whatever punishment you see fit.”

Dippet sighed. He linked his fingers together and gave Albus a considering look. Finally, he said, “Minerva told me that you have been feeling ill. Is that true?”

Albus opened his mouth, unsure what to tell him. If he claimed illness, Madam Basil would need to inspect him. And apart from lack of sleep and too little food, there was nothing physically wrong with him. His injury, after all, was not physical in nature.

Eventually, he shook his head and decided to go with the modified version of the truth. “There has been a family tragedy. I only found out a few weeks ago.”

Dippet gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry to hear that, my boy. Do you require some leave?”

Albus gave a jerky nod. “Yes, I believe that would be for the best.”

Dippet sighed again, but this time, the look in his eyes was kinder. “Well, take as much as you need. Minerva will take care of everything in the meanwhile. Your students will be in good hands.”

Albus managed a weak smile. “I know they will be.”

At Dippet’s nod, Albus rose to leave, but just as he reached the door, Dippet called after him, “Albus.”

Albus turned, his hand on the doorknob. Dippet looked serious. “Next time, I expect you to tell either Madam Basil or me when something is wrong.”

Heat rose to his cheeks as Albus nodded his head in acknowledgement. Dippet gave him a curt smile and waved a hand to dismiss him.

* * *

Minerva was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, pacing up and down the hallway. As she saw him, she immediately asked, “What did he say?”

Albus smiled reassuringly and walked past her, heading towards his rooms. The click of her heels followed him. “I’m going to take some leave.”

“He didn’t suspend you?” Minerva demanded, worried.

Albus shook his head. “No- “He paused, taking a deep breath. “No, we both decided it would be for the best.”

They remained silent as they walked the rest of the way to Albus’ chambers. Albus could sense that Minerva wanted to say something, but she was hesitating. It was not until he was unlocking his door that she finally gathered her courage.

“Grindelwald- “she started uncertainly.

Albus’ hand froze on the key. His heart pounded nervously as he waited for her to continue. She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Did he kill someone close to you?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Albus lowered his head and closed his eyes. Remaining silent, he let her draw her own conclusions.

After a moment, he felt arms encircling him, turning him around, as Minerva reached out to pull him into a hug. Caressing his hair, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Albus buried his head into her perfectly combed hair, his nostrils filling with the scent of her flowery perfume (Gellert had always carried with him a smell of sandalwood and a hint of mint). Closing his eyes, he was overwhelmed by the love he felt for this amazing, strong-willed woman, who had somehow managed to pull him into her orbit from his self-imposed isolation.

Just for a moment, he did not think of how she would react if he told her the truth.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Albus arrived in Godric’s Hollow the next morning. The air was cold as he trudged down from the Apparition point down the old village path, past the still sleeping cottages. Their childhood home was a bit away from the village, for their mother had wanted to make sure no one would see Ariana. It was surrounded by tall hedges for the same reason. When he arrived at the gate, Albus stopped and looked up at the house that had been his home after their father had gone to Azkaban.

Albus, as the oldest of the siblings, had inherited the house when their mother had died. He had never sold it, had never even tried. The memories it held were painful, but even more painful was the thought of some other family living there, happy and unaware of the tragedy that had occurred inside its halls. Instead, the house had languished in Godric's Hollow for over thirty years, growing dusty and decrepit in disrepair.

Albus nudged the worn metal gate open, looking around in the small yard that had been overtaken by his mother's garden. The house loomed over him, dark and forbidding. Looking at the depilated building, Albus was reminded more of a house from a Gothic horror novel rather than his childhood home. Wearily, he walked down the weed-ridden path, leaves crunching under his feet, to the front door and slid in the key into the rusty keyhole. The door creaked open, revealing a dusty hallway, where the sheets covering the furniture created ominous shapes in the dark.

Stopping, he breathed deeply. The memories threatened to overwhelm him, but he caught them and tucked them away, back into the deep corners of his mind, from where they occasionally rose to torment him. Once he was certain he would not break down as soon as he stepped over the doorway, Albus walked into their foyer for the first time in thirty years. Sliding his hand across the yellowing wallpaper covered with flowers, he closed his eyes, feeling the house around him. The air tasted stale. He felt as if the walls were staring at him, the ghosts within the house making their presence known.

Shivering, Albus strode down the hall and up the stairs. As he passed the door to the kitchen, he averted his eyes. Upstairs, at the end of the hallway, was his old room. Albus walked to it, placing his hand on the door handle. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened it. The room was as dusty as the rest of the house, bare except for three pieces of sheet-covered furniture. Stripping down the fabrics revealed his old dresser, a desktop and a four-poster bed.

Exhausted, Albus flicked away the dust with his wand and transfigured the sheets into clean bedding. Stripping off his boots, he slumped down on the mattress and closed his eyes. He would face the rest of the house tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we know that Dumbledore carries enormous guilt with him and that he imagines himself as a monster. I believe that at his lowest points, that could manifest in a desire to hurt himself physically. I wasn't sure if should include the self-harm tag because it's mostly imagining violence against himself, not eating and pulling his hair, and I associate that tag more with cutting and stuff, but maybe I should add it anyway. Feel free to give your opinions.
> 
> Updates will come at least once a month. There might be seven chapters instead of six, but we will see how it goes. My outline for this fic is ready, and parts of all sections are written, so I should get this finished. Hopefully.
> 
> Next chapter: Reminiscence

**Author's Note:**

> Before you ask, no, I don't know why I'm doing this to myself.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked it, and I might just keep my motivation to finish this ;)
> 
> New chapters will come when they come; I'm bad at keeping promises XP


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